Immortal Halloween
by Azpidistra
Summary: A companion to the 'Phobia' series. Mike Ross and Darcy Gallagher have set the wedding date. But they have also set the date for a beheading. (An AU fic) *COMPLETED*
1. An American Craze

Author's Note: This is a companion fic to my 'Phobia' series. It is highly recommended you read the first two in the series. This story is set between the second and the third. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------  
  
October, 31, 2005, 800 PM, 20 miles outside of London, England  
  
"So, who are we supposed to be?" asked Asher Jacobs.  
  
It was Halloween. A week before, Darcy Gallagher had phoned the bar to inform them that she and Mike were in London. "A good central location. Of course, my parents are simply furious I won't be marrying in the same ruined Irish castle they did, but they are coming at least. Oh, you must come, Asher. Richie too, of course. It will be Halloween night. Costumes required."  
  
She and Richie had drove to London the night before. And having spent most of the day sightseeing, they had now returned to the hotel to dress for the party. Asher stood before the wall-length mirror nailed to the back of the bathroom door, frowning. She was not a costume she recognized. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, (making her conscious of just how long it had become since she had moved permanently to Paris), and she was dressed simply in her everyday clothes: blue jeans, one of Richie's button-down shirts -it was green-and a black corduroy vest. She had already laced her black on black saddle shoes, and pulled on her black sweater-coat, with her sword securely hidden.  
  
"I look precisely like Asher Jacobs," she complained.  
  
"No," argued Richie, coming to stand next to her. "You look like who you are supposed to be."  
  
"Which is who?"  
  
"Betty." He said the name like it should be the obvious answer, but he only received a blank look. "From the Archie comics. Please tell me you are familiar with the comicbooks."  
  
"And, I suppose, you would be Archie?"  
  
"Precisely," he exclaimed. "Of course, Archie's hair is more red than mine, practically orange, but I suppose mine will do."  
  
"Archie wore a leather jacket?"  
  
"Sometimes," he laughed. "Look, Asher, if you want to change costumes, we still have time. The party doesn't start until nine, and it is only," he paused to glance at his watch, "eight."  
  
"No, no, this is fine. I just don't feel like I'm in costume. So, who are Betty and Archie anyway?"  
  
"Friends. Betty's in love with him. Archie loves her too, but he also loves Veronica. She's a bit of a rich snob." Richie cocked his head in her direction, simultaneously straightening the baseball cap he wore. "Didn't you read comicbooks as a kid growing up?"  
  
"Sure, I did. Just, I read the X-Men, Batman, Superman, Spiderman, the Incredible Hulk. I liked the whole superhero thing, I guess." Asher grinned suddenly. "You better not flirt with any Veronicas while at this party."  
  
"Relax. Any girl I flirt with I'll make sure I introduce you to her first. Besides, Betty and Veronica really were the best of friends."  
  
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The party was to be held on the grounds of a small thatched cottage about twenty miles outside of London. Posted on the front door -painted a bright cherry red- was a sigh, which read: 'Party's around back -the management.' Crossing the grounds to the backyards, Darcy met them, wearing a wedding dress and vampire fangs. She carried her son in her hands, who too was dressed, in the same red and white striped pajamas Toby had worn in the Labyrinth.  
  
"Asher! Richie! Oh, I'm so glad you could come. I know it was short notice." Warmly, she hugged her two friends. "Ummm, who are you supposed to be?"  
  
"Archie, and Betty? From the comicbooks?" explained Richie.  
  
"I'm drawing a blank. Must have been an American craze."  
  
"Don't worry, Darce. I didn't know who they were either. Richie had to explain to me in the hotel room. Is this Colin?"  
  
"Uh-huh. Isn't he adorable? He has Mike's eyes, but my hair. I'm kind of hoping he keeps it. I've always liked dark hair."  
  
"Can I hold him?"  
  
"Uh-huh. He's your godson."  
  
"He's our what?" demanded Richie, pausing in his tickling of the tiny mortal, who rested contently in Asher's arms.  
  
"Your godson. Oh, I mean there will be no official ceremony. Just a title. If anything should happen to Mike or me, we just want to know Colin will be well taken care of. Just between you and me," Darcy leaned closer to them, and Richie noted the slight red tinge to her lips and fangs, "you two are one of the few stable young couples we know."  
  
"You have no idea," mumbled Richie.  
  
"Oh! Yoo-hoo! Darcy, sweetie, your father needs to talk to you," called a woman in a thick Irish accent.  
  
"My mother," she explained, taking Colin again. He sighed, turning slightly in his mother's arms. "Most likely, Da wants to perform the traditional Halloween dance with his first grandchild. And, they wonder why I moved to Paris," but Darcy laughed, and called over her shoulder, "I think Mike is in the house, should you want to say hello. Most everyone is here already, I think."  
  
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"Ah, Richie, you came. Drive in?"  
  
"Last night. Barely any traffic. Need some help?"  
  
Mike glanced around the tiny kitchen. Dressed in black slacks and cape, the only color he wore was the bright red (matching to the painted front door) of the silk shirt. He too wore fangs. The caterers had cancelled earlier that day (having been old childhood friends of Darcy), but had agreed to drop all the food off. "Bring those cold cuts out?" he asked.  
  
"No problem. So, let me guess, Dracula?"  
  
"Yep. What are you supposed to be?" asked Mike, stepping into the chaos of the backyard, lit with the leftover tiki lanterns he had found in the storage shed, and the citronella candles Darcy had bought in the closest town market.  
  
"Archie. From the comic books."  
  
Mike allowed himself a low chuckle. "How apropos. Suppose your Asher is Betty?"  
  
"She is. Finally, someone understands who I refer to."  
  
"Must have been an American craze."  
  
"Funny. Darcy said the same thing." To which Mike shuddered, and ducked again through the door to retrieve the last of the food. 


	2. Fight Before the Altar

October 31, 2005, 905 PM, 20 miles outside of London, England  
  
Mike and Darcy had invited fifty people; forty-seven people had arrived, and were mulling around, drinking glasses of champagne (or sparkling apple cider in the case for those too young to drink, or did not like the taste of bubbles). It was already ten after nine. The Justice of the Peace was impatient to begin. "I'm only paid to work until ten," he informed Mike. "I still have two hours from here to home."  
  
"Five more minutes, please," begged Mike. "The bride has to be here somewhere."  
  
The man blinked. Truly, he was not a bad sort. He was balding on top, but still wore his hair long in back, pulled into a ponytail. He had hazel eyes, more brown than green, giving them a slight appearance of muddy water. "You lost your bride?"  
  
"I did not lose her. I just don't know where she is at the moment. There is a difference."  
  
The man blinked again, confused. "You do not seem too worried."  
  
"Why should I be worried?" shrugged Mike. "Darcy is a capable woman. Should she wander off, she knows what mushrooms not to eat. Besides," he shrugged again, a teasing grin spreading across his face, "if she should wander off, it will save me the lifetime misery of marrying her."  
  
"Oh, dear!" mumbled the Justice of the Peace. "Do you not feel any love towards her?"  
  
"I don't know about love, sir, but I do like the old girl. Amusing to have around."  
  
The poor man looked like he wanted to bolt, Mike was nearly doubled over with laughter, and it was here, that Darcy wandered over, scowl written across her face. "What lies have you been feeding this innocent gentleman, Michael Ross?" she demanded.  
  
"Oh, nothing. Just said how I hoped you poisoned yourself on the backyard mushrooms."  
  
"Those backyard mushrooms are harmless. But I don't suppose a United States city boy such as you would know that? Too busy polluting the air, and killing the mammals with your car exhaust."  
  
"You drive a car. You've made your home in Paris. You are the one, who agreed to follow me back to the United States. You a hypocrite, Darcy Gallagher, and I do not marry a hypocrite."  
  
"Oh, so you've been married before?" Her eyes were flashing now.  
  
"And, if I was?"  
  
"I hope for your sake, and hers, that she is dead, or I will murder her myself."  
  
"Don't do yourself the favor. I prefer her over you."  
  
At this, the Justice of the Peace took a step back, shaking his head, unbelievable in that he was hearing this. The guests seemed to echo his sentiments in varying degrees.  
  
"Oh, so now you tell me this? It would have been nice to know YESTERDAY."  
  
"Jealous much, Darce?" Mike asked, eyebrows raised, mouth quirking at the corners.  
  
Darcy stared at him, eyes flashed once, before she threw her head back and laughed. Once calmer, she planted a kiss on his lips, turned to the Justice of the Peace, and asked, "Could we perform the ceremony?"  
  
The man blinked yet again, more confused now than before. "You still want to be married? But, but," his voice trailed.  
  
Mike shrugged, grinned. "Oh, that. That was nothing. So, shall we get this show on the road? Before I leave the bride at the altar?"  
  
Still surprised, still confused, the Justice of the Peace started the ceremony. Standing towards the back, Asher and Richie watched, holding hands, own separate thoughts racing through their heads. On the outskirts of their senses, was another Immortal. 


	3. Almost Losing You

Author's Note: To blackblade(2): sorry for the confusion in regards to Mike and Darcy. He really does love her, and never has been married before. However, from my two previous fics, I have seen their relationship the result as sexual tension. The arguing the outlet in which they feed from. Not to mention, they do enjoy teasing one another. But, yes, they do love one another.  
  
As for the story, there is still one more chapter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------  
  
October 31, 2005, 955 PM, 20 miles outside of London, England  
  
Once the official ceremony was completed, the Justice of the Peace hightailed his way out, a little too quick to climb into his car, a little too quick to speed away. "Perhaps we were a little too much for him?" whispered Darcy.  
  
Mike grinned lightly, leaning close to her ear to whisper back, "He should work on his sense of humor then."  
  
Darcy smiled, moving to whisper something more to him, when a "Yoo hoo!" filled the air. "My mother," groaned Darcy. "Do be civil to her, please. Pretend you love me."  
  
"I did just marry you, Darce. I don't how much more this charade I can handle." He leaned in to kiss her, little quicker than either would have liked, but no less sweet, before they proceeded to brace themselves for Mrs. Gallagher, who was still holding her grandson.  
  
Elsewhere, while Darcy and Mike slowly made their rounds, thanking the guests, accepting the congratulations, Richie and Asher stood just slightly off to the side. Richie was chatting with Mike's eighteen year old kid brother, while his girlfriend proceeded to tell Asher just what it was about the wedding she would like to remember her own. Richie did not miss the helpless glances Asher kept shooting his way, though both their conversation partners did. Both felt the 'buzz' at the same time, looking first to one another, and then to the direction it came from.  
  
"Would you please excuse me?" apologized Asher. She handed her unsipped champagne to Richie, shaking her head the slightest, when he made to follow her. "Friend of the couple?" she asked companionably of the other Immortal, coming up to the woman's left.  
  
"I'm the groom's aunt, Emilia du Luc, married to his father's oldest brother. However, I am currently Emily Ross. You would be?"  
  
"Asher Jacobs. A friend of the bride."  
  
"How quaint. I give the marriage a week." The smile she flashed was not kind. Dressed in a genuine medieval gown, her sword belted at her waist, in its sheath. "We should have sufficient privacy in the woods."  
  
"I did not come to fight you."  
  
"Pity," laughed Emilia again. "Weddings always make me more sentimental, always reminding me of what I lost, and of what I need to revenge. From the looks of what I saw pass, it is your boyfriend, you are here with. Also, Immortal. I shall take your head and his."  
  
"You will not keep your head long enough to."  
  
Emilia grinned, swallowed the last of her champagne, and gestured for Asher to follow her to the woods. She cast one backwards glance to Richie, whose eyes were following her to the tightly clustered trees.  
  
"Dude, that woman is crazy," echoed Mike's kid brother, pulling Richie from the reverie of his thoughts.  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"She's crazy," the boy repeated, to which his girlfriend nodded. "She's caught in this time warp or something, where she keeps insisting she needs to avenge her family. And, she keeps claiming to be like over a thousand years old or something, born in the age of Vikings. Something about not dying. Crazy, huh?"  
  
"Crazy," agreed Richie. "Will you excuse me?"  
  
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"Now, darling, are you sure you want to live in the States? So far? Knowing no one?"  
  
"I know Mike," sighed Darcy. "I promise you, Mum, I will be ok."  
  
"Oh, I know you will, honey. Only, my baby girl is married now."  
  
Sighing again, Darcy hugged her mother wordlessly, noticing Richie over her mother's shoulder. "Would you excuse me, Mum? Colin's fussing again. This had better be good, Ryan," she hissed, once she had extracted herself from her mother's grasp to make her way to Richie.  
  
"Have you met Mike's Aunt Emily?"  
  
"Well, sure. She's here, is she not? She wished us congratulations several times over?" Darcy narrowed her eyes. "Why?"  
  
"No reason," shrugged Richie. "Just if you see her or Asher, tell me, I'm looking for them, please."  
  
"Of course," agreed Darcy, but Richie had already turned away. She felt the pair of arms circle her waist, the slight pressure of a vampire's kiss on her neck. "Seems your aunt has developed quite the reputation," she whispered. The kisses stopped.  
  
"Ruin the moment, don't you?" mumbled the male. "Emily, you mean? She's harmless. Why?"  
  
"Richie asked me of her," she shrugged. "So," she turned her head upwards to face her husband, eyebrows wriggling, "time for cake?"  
  
"Just about. Why?"  
  
"Because I have decided the cake frosting will look much better on you than on the cake."  
  
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In the shadows of the trees, the two swords clashed, weaving in and out, in the form of a complicated dance. Asher had removed her black sweater-coat and hat, and they remained where she had thrown them in the first moments of the fight, at the base of a large tree. Emilia had pulled her hair back, and ignored the muddiness at the hems of her dress.  
  
Emilia thrusted, but Asher parried the stroke, retaliating with one of her own, piercing Emilia's right side. "A very sharp technique you have there, Miss Jacobs. You must have had a well-skilled mentor."  
  
"Pity. I wish I could say the same of you," she spat. Something in the swordfights always brought out her natural defense and her sarcasm. "Been some time since your last practice?"  
  
Emilia responded with a front thrust, ripping Asher's shirt, slashing the sword across her stomach. "You were saying, my dear?"  
  
Wiping her free hand across her stomach, she was only slightly surprised when her fingers lifted coated in blood. In the adrenaline rush, she had not felt the pain. A grimace written on her face, the two Immortal women circled a few more times, before Asher stepped lightly to the left, faking a sword thrust, rushing to Emilia's left side, again piercing the skin. "Two wounds to one, du Luc. Shall we call quits?"  
  
"A problem which can be easily remedied, Jacobs. Keep fighting."  
  
Tiring now, and feeling the loss of blood, the land swayed under her feet, Asher blinked her eyes, moving clumsily to her left, in attempt to parry Emilia's technique, only to step directly into the path of her blade. This time she felt the slash, first across her arm, followed by the searing pain in her chest. She fell to her knees, looking up to the woman, who showed no mercy in her face.  
  
"There can be only one," screamed Emilia, raising her sword, to take her final strike, but bracing herself against a tree, Asher rose unsteadily to her feet. Sword raised before her, she blocked Emilia's blow, only to impale her on the sword tip.  
  
"There can be only one," she echoed, removing her sword, and taking the woman's head. In the first swirls of power and lightening, she collapsed.  
  
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Richie hurried through the part in the trees, following the scent of a fresh quickening. He first glanced Asher sprawled, unmoving on the ground, sword next to her, the blood still fresh on its blade. He swore lightly under his breath, rushing to her side, fearing the worst, when he noticed she still had her head attached. He first noticed the other body, that of a headless woman, lying nearby. He did his best to hide it, dragging it beneath some underbrush, coming to sit again next to Asher, to wait for her to wake.  
  
It was some time before she did. The groan was nearly inaudible, the movement as she struggled to sit, stiff in form. "Did I?" she asked, seeing Richie.  
  
He knew she did not ask after the Quickening, and he nodded. "Yes, you did. For almost thirty minutes now. You had me worried."  
  
"Oh, god, Richie, I had to. She threatened you, us, everything we had built."  
  
She felt the tears roll down her cheeks, she felt Richie's gentle touch as he brushed them away, she felt herself fall into his arms, felt his arms surround her, felt herself cry into his shoulder.  
  
For several moments, they stayed as they were. Half sitting, half kneeling in the dirt and amongst the fallen auntumn leaves, clinging to one another in desperation, the only sound being Asher's wrenching sobs. In a world seemingly eons away, a newly-married couple, stood before the cake, having not fed it one another, but started an all-out food war, with only the food nailed down being safe. Both bride and groom wore more food than their mouths had tasted, and were kissing now, to the sound of cheering.  
  
But Richie and Asher stayed where they were. Aware of only the presence of the other. 


	4. Immortal Protection

October 31, 2005, 1045 PM, 20 miles outside of London  
  
When Asher and Richie finally stumbled from the woods, she had buttoned her sweater-coat to hide the healed wounds, and had cleaned and rehid her sword. She still held Richie's hand. Having seen them reappear, Mike trotted over (still cake-covered), and blinked. "Hell, Asher, you look like you've come back from the dead."  
  
"You have no idea." She allowed a small smile to quirk at the edges of her mouth.  
  
"Probably a good thing, I'm guessing. But Darcy is readying Colin for bed, and requested your company. In the upstairs bedroom, third door on the left."  
  
She nodded, kissing Richie's cheek. "I won't be long," she whispered. Her steps seemed to drag.  
  
"What is this about, Mike?" asked Richie, once they were alone. "It's your wedding night. You should only have eyes for your blushing bride."  
  
"I doubt Darcy is capable of blushing. Why did Asher take that Quickening?"  
  
Richie blinked, but in hindsight, he was barely surprised at the question. "She needed to," he sighed. "She needed to die to prove to herself she was still alive, to still know she could play the Game to our Rules."  
  
"So, this wasn't another inane loving attempt to protect you?"  
  
"Definitely, no. Between Mac, Adam, Tessa, Joe and Amanda, I've had enough protection in the last dozen years to more than make-up for a rotten childhood. I wanted to fight the Immortal myself, but Asher left before I could. I suppose I could have followed her sooner, but she still would have been the one who needed to fight. Maybe her reasons are selfish, but," his voice trailed.  
  
Mike raked a hand through his hair. "But you didn't know another one would be here, right? I mean I never mentioned anything about my aunt, did I?"  
  
"No, you didn't, nor did we know. But we must always be prepared. And had she not fought today, she would have fought tomorrow, or the next, or the next. She needed to do this. For a long time, more so, since she had her sword returned to her."  
  
"I've seen many strange things, Richie, working first for Dawson, and then for Mac. More than once, Joe tried to recruit me, but I never took him up on the offer. I care too much. Obviously, you do too."  
  
"Both my blessing and my curse," shrugged Richie.  
  
Mike smiled despite (or maybe, in spite) himself. "How old is she, anyway?"  
  
"Asher? Twenty-three last month. Two days before mine. I have eight years on her."  
  
"Amazing," mumbled Mike. Out loud, he added: "You protect her."  
  
"Always," Richie agreed.  
  
The Halloween night was fading fast. Some unsuspecting soul would find the headless body in the woods come daylight. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not before it began to decompose, but someone would find it. Richie hoped it would be Mike, who understood more than he should, and who would do the decency of a funeral. But he had told the truth. This was something, as much as it had hurt, it was something Asher had needed to know she could do. She had spent too long hiding behind her Immortality, pretending it was not there. But she was capable. She was alive. And, a person could only expect protection for so long. 


End file.
